


Glad To Be Of Service

by junkienicky



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: AU, F/F, Nichorello, OITNB - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-07 15:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11626881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkienicky/pseuds/junkienicky
Summary: "Hey, look, it's only a suggestion while your sister's outta town for the weekend. By all means, decline." AU. Nicky lets Lorna stay for the while that Franny's out of town. She gives in, but still has someone Nicky wants to discard on her mind.





	Glad To Be Of Service

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own OITNB or its characters.  
> 
> 
> **Author's Note:** I'm a sucker for AUs but this one should be the last for a while. More fics are to come, but in the meantime I leave you with this and hope you enjoy. Any feedback is greatly appreciated. I'm on FF and tumblr, same username.

"Hey, look, it's only a suggestion while your sister's outta town for the weekend. By all means, decline." Nicky shrugs, smirkingly. Shooting the snarky statement towards the smaller, brunette woman, across from the counter as she mops up some milkshake spillage left by the previous customer in _Galina's_. _'Fuckin' armatures'_. Fog sticks to the windows of the diner and snow continues to settle to the ground; tracks imprinting into it as tens of people walk the streets of Queens, New York. The two should have already locked-up and gone, but it's almost nine o'clock and it's not that Nicky would complain, if only her feet weren't cold and she wasn't beginning to get restless waiting on Lorna - and her response. Broken heating is a bitch. It's taking Luschek long enough to come round and fix it. She knows Red would slap her round the back of her head for staying an extra hour, drinking more coffee - the customers' coffee, and costing her more money. And she's knows she's the worst, but Lorna wanted to stick around and help clean up and she couldn't decline that offer. Or at least, that's what she was supposed to be doing. She dumps the milkshake-covered rags in the sink to wash, then places her glance upon Lorna, she stands there with her elbow up against the counter of the diner as she flares her nostrils, waiting for her to notice her. "Hey! Thought you were supposed to be helping? You suck." Lorna's sat in one of the booths towards the left far side of the diner, humming 'Let It Snow' or some shit, with her face burred into an ad of a reality magazine that she invests a lot of her working hours in. Glass of half-empty strawberry milkshake beside her. She let's out little snort "alright, alright! I was jus' reading this. Right - It says here that to please your significant other, more people agree on waxing over shaving, but what do you think? I mean, me an' Christopher never really talk about this stuff, but I never really wax. What about you?"

Nicky watches the cool of her breath from by the counter. She sips on the last mouthful of coffee from the bottom of the mug clutched in her right palm. While consuming it's vile, luke-warm taste, she wonders if she's just tired and cranky, or just on the verge of getting sick of hearing that name. She's never met the guy, but hears about him none-stop - significantly more than any of the other employees that work at _Galina's_. Nicky finds it a lot easier for herself to plaster a smile on her face when Lorna blabbers about her fantasies; as opposed to Red. It's usually a lifted brow and _'yeah, bullshit'_ expression, occasionally a _"that's nice, honey, but the orders won't do themselves"_ in that Russian accent. It's not that Red's trying to lack Lorna's confidence, or that she doesn't care. She just has a diner to run. Everyone else casually respond the same way, although Nicky would just feel like a blatant asshole just to tell her to shut up about it. And so, she gives in, sucks her teeth and participates in these silly and actually pretty humorous conversations. Not just to make Lorna feel good about herself - but because she actually finds herself invested in talking to this too-sweet-to-be-true woman, living in her retro and stylish life that Nicky finds herself wanting to devour every crumb of. Every hick of cold breath, her giggles, eye lashes and deliciously looking lips, Nicky wants to suck in. It's weird. Someone like Lorna isn't her type - but she won't let the feeling of wanting to be inside of her get past herself. She's managed to admit that already, and so what? She reinforces to herself. _‘She's got a boyfriend. Not like we'd actually do it.’_ It’s not long until Alex picks it up, and begins to frequently teases her about it.

 _"She is so straight. The definition of straight. Jesus, Nicky. I challenge you."_ She'd taunt, chuckling behind those glasses Nicky can picture across from her cell phone, uninterested. _"Yeah, yeah, I know, Vause. Know what? I take up your challenge. Yeah - so many of these chicks turn for me. You wait."_ Well, it's been months since that interaction and naturally, nothing has changed. At this point, being closer to Lorna than any of her other so-called friends, she'd feel guilty to be talking to her just for her own winning satisfaction. It's become less about wanting to sleep with the girl, and more about just putting up with her incorrect grammar and occasionally sharing milkshakes, because they both enjoy it. But still about wanting to sleep with her - amongst other casual friendly things Nicky aspires to do with her. If only she wasn't so busy with Christopher.

"I dunno, kid. I don't really feed into other people's semantics or bullshit needs. Waxing hurts like shit. If I wanna shave my pussy, I'll shave it. If I don't, I won't. Now are ya coming to help me or what? Y'know. Since you offered to."

“Yeah, yeah, hold on. I’m comin’. And I haven’t made my mind up yet.” Nicky tosses a rag afar, only for Lorna to miserably fail to catch. She scoops it up as they both proceed to clean up tables coated in crumbs, and other food-like substances. “Well, hurry an’ decide. I’m getting cold and wanna go soon. I’m just returning a favour for you giving me rides home. Take it or leave it.” Lorna rolls her eyes, flashing a grin in return to Nicky’s tusk along with that impatient smile. For the past few weeks, it’s been an ongoing routine of Lorna taking Nicky to and from their shifts. And yes, it’s no coincidence that they work the exact same hours. Eventually, Red gave into Nicky’s constant nagging and presentments that it would be beneficial for Lorna to have somebody to talk to, and stop herself from getting up to no good. And Red could see what was going on – or at least, in Nicky’s mind. She’s a mother. She’d notice Red’s eyes darting at her while she multi-tasked, just as they’re nattering a little too much between completing orders. _“Back to work, girls!”_ She’d announce in that Russian accent.

Only today, in one of their natters that covered their lunch hour, Lorna had let it slip that her sister and husband, Jack, were staying out of town for the weekend. She also embarrassingly admitted that she is still living with her parents; blood rushing to her cheeks, turning them a light shade of pink and Nicky felt bad, regardless of the fact that she additionally found it so fucking captivatingly delightful. _“Uh, well, hey, I don’t talk to my mom. Can’t all be bad, huh?.”_ She bit the inside of her cheek, knowing the declaration was completely pointless, yet still found the admiration and kindness in Lorna’s eyes. _“Why don’t you come over to mine for the night – or weekend?”_ An idea sparked. Then Nicky realized how grossly desperate and weird she sounds. _“Uh… If you want? I’m not doing anything.”_ It’s like the excessive sugar floating around in Lorna’s hot chocolate replaced the red, blemished blush within her cheeks upon registering Nicky’s suggestion. She beamed a smile, _“I’m gonna see if Christopher’ll have me over at his, but if he’s busy, then sure. Thanks.”_ Nicky had already anticipated what the answer would be from the off, and it’s not like he'll be busy. Dude never is. It’s like he doesn’t have a goddamn life out of his relationship with Morello – not in the way she makes out.

“Okay – fine. I’m gonna call Christopher, let him know where I’m staying ‘cause I don’t want him to be worried.” Lorna gives in, because she knows it was only a matter of time before she would be able to maintain her refrainment from this warm offer. Nicky doesn’t hide the smirk she allows to creep on her lips; success in her blandishment. She takes the rags and puts them behind the counter, slides on her fingerless gloves and collects her belongings before coming back to see Lorna, tapping in his number in her shitty phone. “Alright. Sweet, uh… You do that, I’m gonna go lock-up out back and have a smoke. Catch me out there when you’re done.” She says coolly, heart beating in flattery before she braces the cold. Lorna smiles, placing the phone to her ear and waving a _‘yeah, I’ll be five minutes’_ hand.

Nicky likes winter. She likes the snow, the rain, the refreshing mist in the oxygen that hugs your nose square, because it’s that harsh sense of realism that hits you. She would be enjoying the snow, the dark, the cold, the white display of her own breath right now if her feet weren’t numb and Lorna’s five minutes didn’t feel like fifteen as she engulfs the smoke from her cigarette that’s almost frozen between her fingers. She moves her feet in a rhythm; some dumb thing people do to try and keep the heat insulated. Slush and snow crunching under her feet as she wonders if that’s the sound of herself turning all mushy and sweet, each time she melts herself into stupid little ideas in her head, like taking Morello for ice cream. Each quick reminder shortly after: _‘Suck it up. She’s already done that with what’s his face, why would she want to do it with you? It’s winter, anyway. Who wants ice cream?’_ Lorna catches up outside; a skip in her step while she fishes out her car keys from her puffy, zipped up winter coat pocket. “Smoking’s real bad, y’know? It stinks, it stays in your clothes and it can give you heart disease.”

 _‘Great. Thanks, kid.’_ It’s like Lorna’s a brutally honest kid that would call you out for not having any friends. “There’s no real shortage when it comes to you taking precautions in your life, huh?” Nicky curls her lips and joins her into her 90s grey Ford Fiesta. Lorna had said it belongs to the family; muttering under her breath, in shame, no doubt, Nicky considered. But it was difficult to grasp why exactly Lorna was mostly embarrassed about her family life. Having a close family is better than a separated family, surely? She never asks why, because that’s out of her place. And what does she know? It’s not like the two have ever completely revealed everything about themselves to one another. She certainly did not pursue onto opening up about that time close to three years ago, she almost crashed a stolen taxi. The past is in the past. And Nicky constantly reminds herself _‘Lorna doesn’t care about your fucked-up life, you never open up to anyone else about this shit. Why her? You moron.’_ She withholds her instances of fuck-ups in her life, and counts each one she chooses not to reveal; knocking them over and watching the chain reaction of them flowing like dominos. It’s easy to say she interprets that Lorna has a far more interesting life than her’s. That sounds selfish and pretentious, and she knows it. It’s not that Lorna doesn’t know about the privileged, conspicuous childhood that she grew up in. She just knows only that, and that’s all she ever will. No one wants to hear any rich girl’s sob stories. But that doesn’t stop her from asking, chirping behind her mug of coffee or hot chocolate, as sweet as the accent that escapes from her lips. 

“Better safe than sorry.” Lorna claims, settling into her driver’s seat and turning the keys in the ignition. She laughs when Nicky asks if she can adjust the passenger seat further back to rest, because it’s not like her apartment’s miles away. A ten-minute drive, twenty-minute walk – if that. From her position, Nicky unintentionally finds herself observing the nothing but the adorable creases under her eyes and those tiny dimples that lie aside the small smile present as she watches the road. She feels her breath radiate through the car as she hums along to yet another Christmassy sounding tune. It emerges from her strawberry flavored lips, along with the watery vaporized condensation she can imagine giving a chill to the frosty air, like the way, just by watching, it already sends goosebumps up Nicky’s legs. “Christopher’s been real cold an’ distant lately… Franny’s reckons he’s gonna ask me to marry ‘im.” Lorna breaks, in a jaded like tone as if she wants to avoid the subject, yet can’t resist to bring it up anyway. “That’s cool, kid.” She endeavors a rapt expression of tone – luckily without it sounding patronizing or kitschy. The rest of the drive remains silent the entire journey and Nicky pretends she isn’t completely infatuated with every single, tiny routine thing Lorna does. Whether it’s the humming and drumming of her fingertips along the steering wheel to a musical number, or her infuriatingly, irritatingly incorrect grammar, to her reapplying the cherry, red lipstick every time she finishes eating. Or the way she cuts up her food, knife in her left hand stabbing at the meal, even though she’s right-handed. It’s like a ritual that Nicky ticks off in her head, each time she carries out one of these small, trademark tasks that are so consistent, so concise. Lorna breaks the car and breathes into her hands, rubbing them briskly, she looks up and beams a soft smile at Nicky. She groans, picking her back up from her seat, “enjoy your little nap, tired bones?”

“Tired bones? Never heard that one before.” Nicky unclips her belt, though the two remain firm in their seats before making a move. “When Franny was pregnant, she used to sleep a lot. Even when she was having contraptions she just – slept right through em.”

“Contraptions? You mean contractions?” She snickers. “Well, this isn’t one of the many cravings of motherhood I’m enduring. If there’s any form of contraception being one-hundred percent effective, it’s homosexuality. Christ, otherwise I’d have my own soccer team. I sleep like a fuckin’ rock.” Exiting the car, Lorna lets out a brief laugh before she stills. Nicky furrows her brows upon noticing Lorna’s cautious features. She worries for a short second that something shitty has happened. “Oh no. I’ve not got my toothbrush, or my P.Js, or—” Nicky laughs hoarsely; befuddled and amused by Lorna’s state of shock and genuine concern. “Don’t worry, kid, you can borrow some of my shit.” It’s honestly strange for Nicky, reading this woman and how she manages to surprise her and unintentionally make her laugh in little, almost unnoticeable, bubbly ways that sends fucking butterflies flooding to her stomach.

Her apartment’s small, but not small-small. It’s clear she used the investment Marka had poured into her account to envelope her state of the ark, uselessness as a parent. Her room has hard flooring, a small couch in the far corner, with dark curtains draped across the windows - snow and ice stuck to the windowsills. The walls are painted with posters, papers and art of classic movies with female leads like Pulp Fiction, Flashdance and Basic Instinct. There’s a splay of magazines, coffee mugs, cigarette packets, an ashtray, an MP3 player and a television remote on a small table by the TV. Lorna peeps across to her endless, impressive and everlasting collection of CDs along the shelves above her bed. Lou Reed, New Order, David Bowie, AC/DC, Green Day, The Naked And Famous, Arctic Monkeys and a whole further array of countless indie artists and bands she’s never heard of. She feels fascinated and engulfs herself into this kind of world she’s never really seen before. “Sorry it’s not that tidy, I’ll clean up later, but right now I’m fucking whacked.” Nicky exclaims; landing herself flat on her bed that Lorna feels slightly perplexed by the size of. “You really live all by yourself?” Lorna asks in quite extensive interest and curiosity. Not to be nosey, or intruding, but because she perceives enchantment in wanting to learn more about Nicky’s lifestyle. “Yep – for the most part.” Nicky does not address what she defines “for the most part,” specifically the part about how many girls she’s fucked in the territory, but Lorna doesn’t ask anyway. “I mean, don’t you ever… Get, like, lonely?” And that enquiry’s a little bit of a stinger. Because yes, believe it or not – even Nicky, with her iron gate keeping her heart shut, consistently finds herself getting pretty damn lonely; especially at the worst of times.

She doesn’t draw attention to it, or at least, scurries it away although that doesn’t stop Red from sometimes noticing. Kneading her eyebrows _“what’s up with you, no breakfast this morning?”_

 _“Uh.. Yeah, somethin’ like that.”_ Of course, it’s not that she doesn’t have friends, or that she doesn’t enjoy the company of being alone; regardless of the fact that she’s her own worst enemy. It just feels like a never-ending cycle of beating herself up over the same old shit, over and over and over until she gets exhausted of even loathing herself.

“Depends.” Is all she replies. The hours continue to roll over and the two continue to talk through the night with the moonlight that shimmers through the break in the curtains to Nicky’s room. She’d insisted Lorna borrow one of her hoodies to keep warm and Lorna didn’t protest. As much as she hates cigarettes, there’s a weird composition that leads her to soak up the smell and warm sensation within the wrath she keeps on strangely feeling. _'I’m not gay.'_ Lorna had repeated and ensured to herself each time she’d stare a little too long whenever Nicky was doing something so quintessential, she must know it like the back of her hand. Nicky knew this, sometimes caught the brunette’s eyes in her tracks, not that it caused her any discomfort – more charm and pride above anything. The scrapbook of cut-out male celebrities and models she’d carry along with her almost anywhere, hadn’t surprised Nicky with no-sight of females that weren’t attached anywhere. Wedding veils, dresses, flowers, rings, the occasional cross to symbol her Catholic faith. And endless colours blooming from the pages like the delightful ray of light she seems to carry everywhere on her shoulders, no matter what mood. _'She isn’t gay. She isn’t bisexual. Not in the slightest. Straight as a wooden plank, that’s as stiff as my back and attitude on early Monday mornings.'_ Nicky repeats and ensures to herself, even if it still seems like some kind of myth she refuses to believe.

“Is that a photo of you when you were little?” Lorna lands her eyes on the small, framed picture of her, stood on her bedside cabinet. Untamed ginger curls and a beaming freckly face. “I bet you look like your maw, everyone says I look like mine.” Nicky clears here throat but doesn’t fray from a light smile. “Lotta people told me I look more like my dad.”

“Why’s it you never really talk much about yourself?” Lorna chirps up, out of the blue opposite Nicky on her bed whilst rubbing her eyes in the sleeves of the thick hoodie and yawning through her words. Nicky pulls an earphone from her right lug, inhaling sharper than she intended. The question sparks confoundment, though she doesn’t hesitate to push on and give into Lorna’s random enquiry. “What do you wanna know?” She perks up so she can see the younger woman’s face more clearly, open to conversation. Lorna grins, emphasising the shine upon her face as she sits up from her position. “Well, what was it like? When you said you travelled? Where did you go? I’ve never even been on a plane.” She admits shamefully, looking down into her palms for Nicky to notice. She chews her lip and shuffles herself closer to Lorna. “It was cool, I mean, it was crazy, but… Yeah, I went to Milan in Italy, Germany, The Philippines, England, Alaska, Columbia. You really never been on a plane?” There’s a writhing swarm of guilt that shrinks in her stomach when the question leaves her lips. “No. My parents could never afford it, an’ then my maw broke her pelvis and my dad got bad knees. Plus, we’re all occupied with Franny’s kids now, so…”

“You’ll get to travel, someday. What about all your plans with Christopher?” Lorna’s eyes mirror Nicky’s and she feels obliged to confession. She ignores the solace comment as an unsteady shift of nausea pushes through her head; tripping her over her own guilt of the secrets and lies that she carries. “I got somethin’ I need to tell ya…” There’s a tense feeling among the air between the two that feels peculiarly noticeable from Nicky’s end. She reads, trying to see through what could possibly lie behind the lashes and hazel of her eyes and what dimension they could possibly sweep her into. “What’s that, kid?” She asks, calmly. Lorna hesitates as she scratches the skin on the back of her neck. Fear of being shamed, accused and humiliation and so she closes her eyes. Pretends no set of ears are around to hear and so she can save herself from the embarrassment that brews up within. “Christopherdoesn’texist.” She blurts, screwing her eyelids tighter so doesn’t have to see the piercing grin tightening Nicky’s lips. Instead, she feels befuddled, with only a tint of followed humour, though only out of bizarreness from Lorna’s intriguing self-admission. “Huh? What’dya mean?” Lorna pulls the cuffs of her sleeves over her wrists, pacing in her tracks as she attempts to identify Nicky’s expression. “Well… He exists but we’re not…”

“Together?” Nicky completes in question. She feels the stories, the desires, the fantasies she made up around this girl begin to fold up and roll into her pocket – yet only in the best fucking way possible. “We only went on one date but… I. Well… It’s stupid, but… I wanted to make it seem like I had something to live for. Everyone’s with somebody and I didn’t wanna feel… Left out. I’m sorry, Nicky. I’m strange…” Nicky sucks in the concealed air between them as she focuses on the words spilling from Lorna’s lips. The red that she so desperately wants to smudge, trace her tongue, eclipse out with her own mouth and taste the flavouring, sugar, and sweet liquorish of fantasies that she builds up. Soak up the inviting scent of unique perfume like the hoodie she shares. The welcoming smoothness of her skin. Every ounce, every goddamn part she wants to explore profoundly. She presses forward, ghosting the warmth of her neck and the fuzzily feeling her breath leaves under Lorna’s earlobe makes her blush wholesomely. “You’re not strange. You’re sweet. And fuckin’ hot.” Nicky hicks, tracking her words along Lorna’s clenched jawline when she presses her thumbs onto her skin-tight jeans. It makes her feel all bubbly, like a fucking teenager on an adrenaline rush. Lorna inhales, bobbing her head and breaking her lips to say “I never… Uh… Done nothin’ with girls… A girl before.” She whispers, when Nicky traces her hand on the soft creases in her skin. “Shh.” She soothes, leaning into the lips she wants to devour as she presses onto them. Lorna kisses back and smiles through the constellation. “Thanks for letting me stay.” She breathes, before lusting forward and lunging for Nicky’s hand to wander further. “No problem, kid. Glad to be of service.” Nicky husks, pressing forward to melt into her skin, where she wants to be imprinted into. Forever.

_‘Oh, Vause is so gonna know about this. Icarus one, Alex nil.’_


End file.
